They came to a low hill; little more than a mound, in fact, and certainly man-made. Standing on its plateau was a windmill. It was very tall and white, though its paint was peeling. Its four great sails turned slowly in a light wind.
‘You conduct your business in some interesting places,’ Caldason remarked.
‘Needs must,’ Karr returned.
The coach was dismissed and they crunched up the gravel path leading to the mill’s entrance. They heard the wind crackling the fabric covering the ribs on its sails. Wood creaked, and there was the low, rumbling sound of grinding cogwheels. When the trio reached level ground they saw that a cluster of squat outbuildings attended the mill.
There were no obvious signs that they were being observed, yet Caldason wasn’t alone in feeling watched. With a gloved hand, Karr rapped loudly on the door’s sturdy planks. It was opened almost immediately, liberating a blast of mechanical noise. A company of armed guards met the visitors, and recognising Karr, waved them through.
At the centre of the large circular room were three intermeshing toothed wheels, enormous and made of iron, which clacked and rumbled as they turned. The chamber was lit by glamour globes, lessening the risk of fire. A dozen or more hovered close to the high wooden ceiling, like bulbous, glowing fungi. Their intense light showed up the fine flour dust in the air.
The place was crowded with people, their murmured conversations rivalling the machinery’s clamour. Most were men, of all ages, but there was a fair sprinkling of women and children. They sat on crates, heaps of sacks or the odd bench and chair. Many stood. Some of the youngsters were curled up on the floor, asleep.
A woman emerged and made her way to Karr and the others. She was middle-aged and of a chunky build, with severe hair, and looked as hard as hell. But the smile she wore on seeing the patrician softened the effect.
‘This is Goyter,’ Karr said. ‘She’s overseeing this little group.’
He swapped greetings with her, then indicated his guests.
If Caldason’s name meant anything to her, she didn’t blink. ‘Good to meet you both. Here for the investiture?’
‘Not as participants,’ Karr answered for them. ‘But hopefully soon.’
‘Investiture?’ Caldason queried.
‘Everybody here has been accepted for Resistance membership,’ Goyter explained. ‘We make a small ceremony of the induction, to mark the event.’
The Qalochian looked at the waiting conscripts. ‘The movement seems to attract a varied membership.’
‘Oppression casts a wide net,’ Karr replied. ‘Some are here as a matter of principle. Others have more direct reasons for joining us. Come and meet a few. You as well, Kutch.’ He nodded to Goyter and she went back to her duties, the smile blinking off.
Karr led Reeth and Kutch deeper into the room. They stepped over reclining bodies and outstretched legs, skirted knots of chattering postulants. He spotted someone he knew and made for him. The man was probably just into his twenties. He was clothed poorly, but looked fit. Karr didn’t introduce him by name.
‘Would you mind telling why you’re here?’ he asked. ‘For my friends?’
‘No, sir.’ The young man was hesitant. He struck them as a doer rather than a talker. ‘Suppose it’s simple, really. I always wanted to do something of service to the country, like my father before me. He was regular army, sir. So I put in for the militia. But what they made me do, and the things I saw…’ The memory clouded his face darkly.
‘Such as?’ Caldason prompted.
‘Lawful protests put down with uncalled-for brutality, people terrorised into becoming informers, suspects tortured or murdered… no end of things a peace-keeping force shouldn’t be doing.’ A flash of zeal animated him. ‘I joined to safeguard people’s freedom, not to steal it.’
‘Tell us how it came to the crunch for you,’ Karr said.
‘One bad order too many, sir. It was as plain as that. I had to disobey it, and that’s something you don’t do in the militia. So I deserted. My father would have been
scandalised
by that. But I reckoned I’d serve the people best by siding with the Resistance rather than the empires and their puppets.’
Karr clasped the young man’s hand. ‘Your integrity does you credit.’
As they turned from him, a woman approached. Her careworn face and sorrowful eyes spoke of some tragedy that had aged her. She was evidently someone else Karr knew. Once they’d greeted each other, he asked her the same question he’d asked the deserter.
‘Why am I here?’ She seemed genuinely perplexed. ‘Where else could I be after what happened?’
‘What was that, ma’am?’ Kutch inquired, his tone courteous and soft.
The woman stared, as though seeing him for the first time. After a beat, she said, ‘Lost two boys. One not that much above your age, the gods bless you.’
‘How did they…?’
‘War did for the eldest. One of those pointless wars against people we’ve no quarrel with. State killed the youngest.’
‘Executed for cowardice,’ Karr elaborated. ‘I knew him. If he was a coward I’ll walk naked into a barbcats’ den.’
‘Speaking his mind was his only crime,’ the woman judged, ‘and they took his life for it. That’s why I’m here, bringing what I can to the cause.’
Karr thanked her and she reclaimed her place on a patch of floor.
Nearby, he found another woman he recognised. Life had wearied her too, though her youthful looks remained more or less intact.
The patrician related her story himself. ‘You lost your home in a forced clearance, so a palace could be built for a Gath Tampoorian overseer. Isn’t that right?’
She nodded. ‘But that wasn’t the worst of it. When the people in our quarter united to object to the plan there was a bloodbath. My husband and my brother were… butchered.’
‘They sent paladins in,’ Karr supplied.
‘Bastards,’
the woman hissed. She noticed Caldason’s sympathetic expression, and studied him with shrewd eyes. ‘You’re a Qalochian?’ she asked.
He confirmed it with a slight bob of the head.
‘Then you know all about suffering at their hands. For my money, anyone who goes against those clan swine deserves a medal. I say more power to their sword arm, and good luck to them.’ Her smile had little warmth but a great deal of canniness in it.
The remark was pointed enough to make them pretty sure she’d guessed who Caldason was. They left it hanging and moved on.
‘See him?’ Karr indicated a bearded, stocky individual, perched on a barrel. He wore a wool cap and was dressed in a heavy, dark blue long-coat. ‘Another defector. Navy, in his case. Second in command on a slave galley, would you believe. Hated the brutality and came over to our side.’
Every step seemed to elicit a tale. Karr pointed out more volunteers.
‘That pair standing by the door – reformed bandits. Some very useful skills they’ve brought us. Him. See? A priest. Broke his vows over a matter of conscience. The couple over there – a merchant and his wife. They -’
‘I think we get the point,’ Caldason interrupted. ‘You have a groundswell of support.’
‘Yes, the Resistance is drawing from a wider pool than ever before.’
‘So all these people will be going to your island paradise?’
Karr gave a small laugh. ‘It’ll hardly be that. But perhaps some of them will. We’ll see.’
Caldason scanned the room. ‘It’s a motley crew.’
‘I think diverse is a better way of putting it. They have a range of expertise we need. More important, they’ve got something not easily measured. Passion. You can move mountains with that.’
‘Moving the empires might prove tougher.’
Karr bristled. ‘Why do you always have to -’
‘Ssshhh!’
Kutch had a finger to his lips.
Goyter was standing on a crate. Now she called for order. Two men went to the conjunction of cogwheels in the middle of the room. They grasped a massive lever. Muscles working, they wrestled it down. The wheels slowed, their clinking grew lazy, then they squeaked to a halt. A final shudder released falls of fine white powder from somewhere above.